Konoha Dirt
by Crumpet of the Sea
Summary: Gaara knows sand like nobody else. The dirt in Konoha is unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, like love... somewhat implied preNaruGaa [bad title, bad summary]


A/N: Really crappy title, no?

Wrote this all in one sitting, in a sudden rush of inspiration. I'm quite proud of this, and I think it's a helluva way to make my debut. I only hope the italics show up.

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Title: Konoha Dirt

Author: Crumpet of the Sea

Rating: PG for some brief violent imagery, and angst

Summary: Gaara thinks on sand. And dirt. And love.

Pairings: Very small, barely implied, pre-NaruGaa

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Konoha Dirt

There is no sand in Konoha; maybe by the rivers, but not in the village.

But there is dirt. Dark. Rich. Powder-soft. Perfect for growing things. Gaara looks down, scuffing the black earth with his foot. It fascinates him, that he has no control over it, that everything it touches seems to flourish. That it is so different from sand, which nourishes nothing, which kills everything. Especially under his control.

Gaara has known sand his entire life. The sand of his village, which has been with him, protected him, fought with him, and full-filled his bloodthirsty desires since the day he was born. He knows its rough caress, knows how to control its ebbs and flows, knows intrinsically that it is the only thing that has never, and will never, abandon him.

He loves himself. He loves the sand They are the same.

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He is walking through Konoha, alone but for Shukaku. He is avoided by the villagers. He can feel their fear like a stink. It reminds him of home.

Gaara's thoughts change as his feet stop, almost of their own volition. His eyes are focused on that boy, that stupid blonde, Naruto. He is standing in the park across the street, talking with a wheel-chair bound Lee. Joyfull. Excited. Smiling. Happy.

The sand nudges his arms, a gentle insisting, a persuasive suggestion. It tells him to say the word, to let it fly out and tear the boy's arms off, to crush his skull, to rip his entrails out. To let it bathe in blood. It yearns, it demands, it...

Gaara wrenches his eyes away. He breathes heavily and forces the sand down. He has never denied it a kill.

He covers his mouth with a tense, shaking hand. As if this will control his breathing, his heart, his mind which is racing. It turns inside out, around and around this concept which he cannot understand. This feeling that fills all those in this wretched place. That he felt when he saw Lee and his sensei. That Naruto had...

Gaara grips his face tight in his fingers. He doesn't understand this. Love. It nourishes and grows like the dirt beneath his feet. He sees it in his mind, but cannot comprehend. Dimly he is aware that it is not a feeling he has ever felt, and that what he feels in himself, _for _himself, and for the sand, is not, and never has been... love.

A hand touches his shoulder. He has not been listening to the sand. It has been warning him of an approach. The sand knocks the hand away and Gaara whirls to see his attacker...

Naruto. His face is calm, and his eyes are filled with concern. Compassion. Is that not also a form of love, Gaara wonders. His eyes are wide and wild as they search Naruto's face, search for a reason. For why he has approached, for why he does not understand, for anything.

Naruto grins amiably, and speaks. He cannot understand the words. It seems as though a typhoon is roaring in his ears. Naruto reaches for the hand that had previously been covering his mouth. The hand is soft. It tugs gently. Gaara makes out a single word, 'ramen', as the din in his ears slowly begins to subside.

He lets himself be lead away by the hand in his, by Naruto. The dirt under his feet feel like Naruto's hand, soft, warm, and gentle. He feels the sand recede from his skin.

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Post-Script:

I've lived in Florida almost my entire life. I know for a fact that nothing can grow in sand. It acts as a sponge and absorbs water before it can reach plant roots, and has little or no nutritional content. If you see what appears to be plants growing in sand, that's because the sand has been mixed with a more nutritional dirt. In Oregon, which is where I'm from, the dirt is just as it's described in the story. I think it could grow rocks if it wanted to.

I think the metaphor was pretty obvious, of love as represented by dirt, and hate by sand... Nevermind.

There may be a companion piece to this, from Naruto's POV. I don't know; I honestly didn't intend to write this.

Please review, and be polite. Constructive criticsm, not flames.


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